#AmericanWriters
Look, the eucalyptus, the Atlas p… the yellowing ash, all the trees are gone, and I was older than all of them. I am older than the m… than the stars that fill my plate,
If you were twenty-seven and had done time for beating our ex-wife and had no dreams you remembered in the morning, you might
Green fingers holding the hillside, mustard whipping in the sea winds, one blood-bright poppy breathing in
A blue jay poses on a stake meant to support an apple tree newly planted. A strong wind on this clear cold morning barely ruffles his tail feathers.
Still sober, César Vallejo comes… around the apartment building cove… He puts down his cane, removes his… to untangle the mess. His neighbor… wondering what’s going on. A middl…
You pull over to the shoulder of the two-lane road and sit for a moment wonderin… where you were going in such a hurry. The valley is bur…
The doctor fingers my bruise. “Magnificent,” he says, “black at the edges and purple cored.” Seated, he spies for clues… gingerly probing the slack
“I’ve been where it hurts.” the K… He becomes Sierra Kid I passed Slimgullion, Morgan Min… Camp Seco, and the rotting Lode. Dark walls of sugar pine —,
Brooklyn, 1929. Of course Crane’s been drinking and has no idea who this curious Andalusian is, unable even to speak the language of poet… The young man who brought them
The air lay soffly on the green fu… of the almond, it was April and I said, I begin again but my hands burned in the damp ea… the light ran between my fingers
Someone was calling someone; now they’ve stopped. Beyond the gl… the rose vines quiver as in a light wind, but there is none: I hear nothing. The moments pass,
Torn into light, you woke wrigglin… on a woman’s palm. Halved, quarter… shredded to the wind, you were the… that thrilled along the underbelly of a stone. Stilled in the frozen…
People sit numbly at the counter waiting for breakfast or service. Today it’s Hartford, Connecticut more than twenty-five years after the last death of Wallace Stevens…
All afternoon my father drove the… between Detroit and Lansing. What… I never learned, no doubt because… though he would grab any unfamilia… and follow where it led past field…
The first purple wisteria I recall from boyhood hung on a wire outside the windows of the breakfast room next door at the home of Steve Pisaris.